


Breathe

by amporasbitch



Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Angst, CPR, Drowning, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amporasbitch/pseuds/amporasbitch
Summary: First, chest compressions.Second, rescue breaths.Third, repeat.Fourth, do not panic. This step is optional.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Ya I know the title is fuckin cliche don't @ me
> 
> I love me some good drowning whump. The first fic I ever posted to this site was drowning whump! So it was about time I put my current favorite boi through the ringer >:3
> 
> Enjoy!

_One, two, three, four, five, six–_

“Doctor–”

“Shut up, just be quiet, I need to focus–”

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen–_

Dr. Iplier feels something slide, hears a pop. Dark must have heard it too, but he says nothing, and Dr. Iplier doesn’t stop pushing.

_Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty._

The briefest of pauses to check for an independently rising chest.

Nothing.

Dr. Iplier pulls the mouth open, leans down, breathes into the parted, blue lips.

_One...two._

Still no response.

Dr. Iplier resumes pushing.

_Keep counting, keep pushing. Keep counting, keep pushing. Count, push, breathe. Note every crack and snap in the chest, but don’t stop until it’s over. Look for independent breathing, physical responses, signs of regaining consciousness._

Those internal rules are a mantra, a simple one for Dr. Iplier. He’s performed CPR many times over the years. At this point he can do it in his sleep. It takes little effort to zero in on the procedure, to ignore outside stimulus, to quash the body’s panic response and do what it takes to revive the patient.

_If he survives long enough to–No, don’t think like that, don’t think at all, keep pushing, keep moving–_

This time is harder, though. This time, panic rears up inside him, thrumming behind his every thought. He doesn’t normally have to stop himself from looking too closely at the patient, or from flinching every time his pushing displaces something in the chest.

In _his_ chest.

Yandere’s chest.

One moment Dr. Iplier was in his clinic, going through paperwork, and the next, Dark had appeared in his office and whisked him away to the edge of a pier. Dr. Iplier doesn’t know the whole story, neither does Dark. All Dark saw was a group of humans, one serving as a lookout, the others forcing Yandere’s head beneath the ocean, ignoring his twitching. All Dr. Iplier saw was Yandere sprawled on the pier where Dark had laid him, pale and cold and harrowingly _still._

Even with all the pushing and breathing, that has not yet changed. Yandere has yet to respond to Dr. Iplier’s efforts. The doctor finds himself holding his own breath on every push, as if expecting it to be the last before Yandere springs back awake. But it hasn’t happened yet, and Dr. Iplier keeps pushing.

It’s not as if Dr. Iplier hasn’t seen Yandere injured before. It’s not even like he hasn’t seen him badly injured before. But those times were different.

Yandere wasn’t his son then.

Now, it feels as though the parent in him is fighting with the doctor in him. His doctor side is calm, efficient, knows exactly what to do and how to do it, and doesn’t let any distractions trip him up. His parent side is panicking, frantic, trying so hard not to break down at the sight of his son unconscious and unbreathing.

His son. His boy. His _baby._

Dr. Iplier used to only remember how young Yandere was when he stumbled into his clinic delirious from blood loss, when Dr. Iplier stitched up gashes that spanned across his narrow chest, when he opened him up for surgeries and found a small heart, small lungs, small bones. Now, Dr. Iplier remembers how young Yandere is when he cries after a bad dream, when he reaches out for hugs at any opportunity, when he begs for something with a playful, whiny “Daaaaad, come on, please?” And those new memories juxtaposed with Yandere’s current still, blue-tinged face make Dr. Iplier feel like _he’s_ the one who can’t breathe. Watching Yandere’s limp body ragdoll with each compression makes Dr. Iplier’s own chest hurt.

_Ten, eleven, twelve–“Shishi, um, does this look bad to you?”–fifteen, sixteen, seventeen–“I’ll be more careful next time, I promise!”–twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three–“Arigato oto-san~!”–twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight–“I love you, too, Dad.”_

One more pause, two more breaths, and the pattern repeats.

Dr. Iplier has seen other parents, other fathers, reacting to their children in danger. He’s seen it all. New fathers weeping alongside their wives over their little boys. Elderly men with shocked tears sliding their faces as they realize they might outlive their adult sons. Fathers of teenagers crying over the milestones their kids might not survive to reach. Dr. Iplier’s seen the ones who don’t cry, too; the ones who shout and scream, the ones who shut down and go silent, the ones who shake their heads and say it’s impossible, that there’s no way their boy is hurt, dying, dead.

Dr. Iplier thinks he’d be in the crying camp if he let himself think about the situation long enough to react.

Still, his mind wanders. He performs CPR on autopilot; his frantic mind can’t stay settled on it. He wonders what kind of expression Dark is making right now. Dr. Iplier hasn’t looked at him since he brought him here. He figures Dark must be keeping his composure, judging by how quiet he’s been since this started, save for the occasional crackle of his aura. Dr. Iplier also wonders how this situation happened in the first place. The group who did this to Yandere was already dead when the doctor got here thanks to Dark, so he can’t exactly ask them. They must have surprised Yandere, gotten the jump on him somehow.

One thing Dr. Iplier doesn’t, or at least tries not to think about is Yandere’s time, those numbers above his head broadcasting how much longer he has to live. Dr. Iplier could look, of course. He could always look. But he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid to. Because what if it’s gone from blue to red? What if it’s a lost cause? Dr. Iplier would rather spend a century doing compressions and breathing into Yandere, would rather push down on his chest until his organs are soup and his ribs are shattered, then ever accept that his boy is lost. Dr. Iplier knows, of course, that even if Yandere dies it might not be the end, that Yandere might come back to life in a few weeks or so. But only “might.” It’s not guaranteed, and Dr. Iplier knows better than to test death.

So he keeps pushing, keeps breathing, keeps thinking of anything but what’s right in front of him, keeps looking at his hands on Yandere’s chest and not at his time.

_Five, six, seven–You’re stronger than this, Yan–eleven, twelve, thirteen–This can’t be how you die–seventeen, eighteen, nineteen–If you don’t wake up I’ll kill you myself–twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six–I love you so much, please–_

He bends down to Yandere’s lips again, so blue, so cold, a little salty from the water. He forces air into him again.

“ _Breathe_ , honey,” he gasps, the first words he’s said in–how long? How many minutes? Who knows. Who cares. Yandere still isn’t breathing. His boy still isn’t breathing, his baby won’t _wake up–_

_One, two, three–Why won’t you breathe, please just breathe–seven, eight, nine–You don’t know how much I care about you–thirteen, fourteen, fifteen–I can’t lose you, I can’t, I can’t–nineteen, twenty, twenty-one–Please, oh god, please, don’t take him from me–twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven–Wake up, wake up, I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t–_

Yandere wheezes.

Dr. Iplier stops pushing, holds his breath.

Yandere wheezes, his body arches, and he starts to cough.

Dr. Iplier moves Yandere onto his side and into the recovery position, and Yandere lays there, coughing and hacking and spitting out saltwater. He shakes violently, from cold or shock or trauma, vomits out what food is left in his stomach, and starts to sob through his harsh coughing, but he breathes, he _breathes_ , and so does Dr. Iplier.

As much as every fiber of Dr. Iplier’s body was on the edge of its seat waiting for Yandere to wake up, something in the back of his brain expected to lose him forever.

Dr. Iplier allows himself to feel relief, but he knows it’s not over yet. Yandere probably aspirated seawater, he definitely has some ripped cartilage or bone fractures, he’ll need more care until he’s out of the woods, so Dr. Iplier can’t let himself get distracted yet _–_

“Papa,” Yandere rasps, tears running down his cheeks.

Just like that, the world falls away, and there’s nothing in existence but Dr. Iplier and his boy.

He finally spares a glance at his time. It’s blue, thank god it’s blue, and slowly increasing, so Dr. Iplier allows himself to carefully take Yandere into his arms. One hand cradles Yandere’s head, tangling fingers through his sodden hair, the other winds around his back and holds him close.

“I’m here, honeybee, I’m here,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, voice trembling, “You’re safe, you’re okay.”

Yandere lets out a shuddery sigh before relaxing and going limp in Dr. Iplier’s arms. But Dr. Iplier doesn’t panic; he can feel Yandere’s breath against his neck in raspy but steady puffs. He presses a gentle kiss to Yandere’s forehead, and his skin is still cold, but the knowledge that it won’t be cold forever in turn fills Dr. Iplier with warmth.

“ _Is_ he okay?” Dark asks.

Dr. Iplier almost jumps; he’d forgotten Dark was even there. His expression is remarkably stoic, but his wild, flailing aura gives his true feelings away.

“Yes,” Dr. Iplier says, “He’ll need to stay in the clinic for a couple days at least, but he’s going to be fine.”

_He’s going to be fine._ He’s said those words hundreds of times, but it’s never felt like this.

Dr. Iplier recalls thinking that he’d be the crying type of parent if he let himself process what his son was going through. But he won’t cry until later, until after Dark teleports them all back to the clinic, until Dr. Iplier examines Yandere and puts him to bed, until Wilford and Chrome each have a chance to see their friend, until Dr. Iplier is finally alone in the clinic with Yandere sleeping peacefully, breathing easier by the minute.

Dr. Iplier will cry then, pushing out all the emotion he built up, as he strokes Yandere’s hair and tells his little one how much he means to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these bois so much ;w;
> 
> ...I say after I almost drown one of them :3c
> 
> Feel free to leave a kudos or comment if you liked this fic! I really appreciate seeing them <3


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